


what remains

by thegirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Happy Ending (kind of), Reunion, Souls, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl/pseuds/thegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Jon Snow sees is the stars.</p><p>They left him, like everyone has always left him, left him in the dark and the cold, alone, alone, but he can see the ice dragon and the kings and queens of old, and maybe for a moment he sees two especially bright twinkling stars that remind him of Ygritte’s eyes, and then he can’t see anything at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what remains

The last thing Jon Snow sees is the stars.

They left him, like everyone has always left him, left him in the dark and the cold, alone, alone, but he can see the ice dragon and the kings and queens of old, and maybe for a moment he sees two especially bright twinkling stars that remind him of Ygritte’s eyes, and then he can’t see anything at all.

He doesn’t know where he goes next, but he is gone, for a small eternity, breathed out of his dead body with the hopes and dreams he’d ever had, left behind in the corpse (they left him in the cold, in the cold) – he is smoke and ash and salt and earth, he is iron and steel and dust, he is ice and fire. He is not dead. He is not dead. He is just something else.

“Crow,” he hears Ygritte’s voice, calling for him, and tries to follow it, but he can’t control the remains of himself and he swirls along with cold winds because he is no bigger than a grain of sand, a flake of snow, and his legs were lost long ago – for a while all he hears is the howling of wolves. Jon tries to remind himself he was a wolf, once, he was part of a pack, but not anymore.

Never again.

“Farewell, Snow.” Robb Stark’s shade whispers in Jon’s invisible, immaterial ears and Jon tries to reply, like he had before, but the words won’t form on his non-existent tongue “You have the wolf blood in you.”

 _I have nothing,_ Jon wants to scream, _I am nothing._

Robb sounds amused then, chuckling like he did when Arya made a silly joke or Grey Wind couldn’t make sense of his surroundings, and Jon doesn’t even wonder how he heard him, just accepts it. “You are something. You are someone.”

Jon tries to cling to that idea, but soon he forgets his name. “Crow,” the spectre of the girl calls to him, and he thinks that is his name for a while. Crow, he caws, and fills the souls of black birds and plummets to the earth, because nothing will hold him. He screams about corn and kings and never knows what he’s saying before it ends, it ends – it always ends.

He is a soul, a burning, aching existence full of dark and light and pain and bliss, and he doesn’t know how to fix himself, he doesn’t know how to run away. The wind finally blows him back to her, though.

“Jon Snow,” his lover’s shade whispers, in her own atoms dancing around him, and she is still so painfully beautiful to him, it feels like dying all over again.

He knows his name.

“Ygritte,” he answers with a tongue he’d just gained, and tries to reach out to touch her, but goes right through her, like water and wind and words.

“I missed you,” she tells him with a leaves that spin around her, red and brown, and for one moment he thinks he sees her, what is left of her – he burned her, he remembers, but she is still glorious and red and in the scarce moment he sees what remains of her eyes, he knows he loves her with everything he has left.

He doesn’t know anything but her, not his father or brothers or sisters, not his killers or enemies or friends. He knows her and a cave, he knows her and a battle, he knows her and a castle, he knows her and nothing else.

“I know you,” he tells her, and they spin around one another, mingling, becoming one.

“You know nothing,” she says, a laugh that sounds like rushes rubbing one another and sparrows and boiling water.

“I know you,” he insists. He is Jon Snow, and she is Ygritte, and he knows her "I know you better than anyone else. You know me. You know me better than anyone else."

“Mayhaps,” she is rushing winds and willow trees, she is ice and fire, just like him "There is no anyone else anymore. Just me and you. That's all."

“You’re mine,” he says, slowly, and he can’t see her, can’t see anything, nothing except the stars, but he feels her smile “And I’m yours.”

“Yes,” she says, sweetly, in a way she never would have in life, death having mellowed her beyond words. There was something peaceful about knowing you had finished your long journey, and you'd never have to fight for anything or anyone ever again. It just was what it was, and Ygritte had been waiting for him for so very long. “You know some things, Jon Snow.”

When they come together, for one final, immortal kiss, the world explodes. Neither of them cares.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to do a Jon/Ygritte death fic which ended up being super, super abstract but I like it. I hope you do too. Please review!


End file.
